Exactly one year ago today, I received a call from my sister that something was wrong with dad. She was crying on the phone, telling me she was on her way to the house. That she had received a call from her son Tony, who had busted the back door to find my father, not breathing, sitting in the recliner, toothpick in one hand, remote control in the other, with the TV on full blast.
I’ve been thinking about this day, in light of all of the loss of family this year, how would I feel? What would I say? Would I still remember what happened that dreadful day? Would I still feel the incredible pain of guilt of not having closure. From not saying goodbye to him when I had the chance and seeing his smile one last time.
The regrets are long gone and the tears have slowed down. But the desire to hear his voice, his laughter, smell the cooking as I walked into his house, and basically, just get back the norm that once was, is still there.
As he lay on the ground I whispered to him that I was sorry I let him down but I promised him that we would take care of mom and do as he expected. It’s been a year and we have kept that promise. There are times that Mom takes a turn for the worse, but she bounces back with the extra TLC we give her and God saying, "not yet". We have lost a lot of people but Mom continues to show strength despite her delicate condition and this gut wrenching disease.
There are so many things to say, without knowing where to begin. Dad was a simple but complex person. You knew right away what his values were. Family, Faith, Strong work ethics, Responsibility, Food, Heritage, Baseball - especially his Amazing Mets, his Garden, playing dominoes and his special type of music.
Dad would have been proud of us. Family was everything for him and all he ever wanted was for us to be together, be good to each other, and to do our best taking care of the love of his life. I do believe that the primary reason he had the strength, along with his faith, to beat cancer twice was so that he could stick around to take care of his wife, Angela. He prayed daily for a miracle without realizing that the miracle was how close we are as a family and our common goal of taking care of Mom.
He was a very faithful man, never missing a Sunday to go to church, unless he was in really bad shape. When Mom went with us to church, he would hold her hand and then eventually, he would grab her by the shoulder to bring her up for communion, even though she was past the point where she understood what was going on at church or that she should even be going there. Seeing him in his Sunday routine, from how every Sunday he would go early to church and would kneel to pray the rosary before mass, and then afterwards, mention how much his knees hurt for being in that position so long, to the way he walked up to get communion, was something to see.
Since his retirement in 2005 and move to SC, we got to really know a different person than what we knew in NJ. Time changes people. Dad was a changed person, but at his core, he was the same. We just never really understood that.
Dad would work during the week and after work and dinner, would hangout mostly in the living room but many times in his bedroom, watching TV. He worked hard and it showed. On weekends, he would hang out, every weekend, in the Spanish Club, playing dominoes, pool, having a few beers - much to our resentment. When he wasn't doing that, he was working in his garden tending to his tomatoes and other stuff he grew. That was probably his biggest struggle, to leave his routine, his friends, the club and move to SC. But once he made up his mind, it was done. He looked forward, not back.
Dad was taken out of school when he had completed his 2nd grade so that he could take care of the animals and bring lunch to his father who worked in the field. Work was so important for him but at the same time, his regret. Besides our family trip to Puerto Rico every 5-7 years or so, primarily to see family, he never really had what we would call "a vacation". Many a times, he would cry because he felt like any opportunity he had to do something with his life, was taken away from him, at a young age. Mostly, his desire to finish school. So he put all of his energy in his work, and he was serious about it. Something he instilled in all of us. For most of his life, he was a landscaper and I remember growing up and going with him to cut the grass at one of the places he had to take care of. Towards the later years, he was a factory worker, and worked to the point where he became the union rep at the factory.
When the time came, he retired and moved down to be with us. He worked every day until he retired at 69, saving up his social security checks so he could put his down payment on the house they could finally afford. At 70 years of age with his wife at 63, they not only bought their first house, it was a brand new house that had just been completed in a new neighborhood. The ultimate dream home. Throughout my entire life, mom would constantly ask me if one day, I would be able to buy a house for her, but in the end, they did it themselves. I still cry just thinking about how happy they were, and how proud we were, that day.
He did an amazing job taking care of his lawn and his garden. He had years of practice and took it very seriously. We encouraged him to start walking and even about 5 months before he passed, he would go walk, and come back and cut the grass. It did get to the point when he had to rely on us to cut his grass because he could not do that anymore. However, when I would do it, he would only want me to cut the grass and would tell me that Manny, my brother-in-law, would be coming to edge and weed whack it. Little did I know, he had made arrangements with him to do that because apparently I sucked at it. He would complain that I was in a rush and would do a horrible job :) He would not tell me that though. What I heard was the Manny had offered to do that.
His garden though, that was something. Every year, he would grow watermelons, beans, pumpkins and other stuff, primarily from seeds he would get from his brother in Puerto Rico. His tomatoes never had a chance, due to the horrible dirt and the constant beating of the sun, because according to dad, he lived on top of a hill in a desert, "en esta loma, no crece nada". I finally picked up his habits and started my own garden. This year, we are planting his seeds that he had stored in the refrigerator and will be growing all of his items, in various places, including the back of his house.
At one point, I mentioned to him that we were going to start making meals for him because he was struggling with his health. His response to me was, "Rafy, don't take that away from me. Let me cook. It's ok if you want to help with the yard and you guys are already taking care of Angelita, but I have nothing else to do. I can continue to cook". And cook he did. Dad was known for cooking and boasted about he was even a better cook that mom and he had taught her how to cook. We never really knew for sure if that was true as mom would not really push back. Dad was always cooking and making things for us. For every holiday, dad would make the rice, we would make everything else. Whenever we had out of town family visitors, dad would prepare the meals and make his famous rice. We would be responsible for lunch and taking them out but dinner was at dad's house. He showed his love through his cooking and amazing food. We continue to try to replicate his meals but they are not the same. I miss walking in seeing the spices ready, about an hour before he would start to actually cook, smelling the food that was cooked or getting his voicemails saying he was done, but a bit too early because it got ahead of him. Which frankly, was every time he cooked.
Dad first left Jayuya around 1955 or 1956. Trying to find a decent job in Puerto Rico that paid a good wage was impossible. In NJ, he would work during the spring, summer and fall as a landscaper, but then winters would head back to Puerto Rico. He never really wanted to leave and his heart was still back "home" in Jayuya. That's actually why he never really bought a house in NJ. He always thought he would go back and build a home on his "parcela" but that never came about. This would be the routine every year until he and mom got married. He and mom made the decision when mom was pregnant with me that they would move finally and the back and forth trips stopped.
He was a very proud Puerto Rican. Not the standoffish kind that has never really been there and understands what it really means to be Puerto Rican, but the kind that has more like a spiritual connection with that island like he had. His Jibaro Music was always playing at home or in his car.
His car had a ton of Puerto Rican stickers on it, including the necessary "el Gallo" (the rooster) emblazoned with the PR flag, several flags and one of the island shape. We called it the Puerto Rican Mobile and when we decided to hand it off to Evelyn, because that is what he would have wanted, the condition was that she could not remove the stickers.
My ringtone for him was
Lamento Borincano, and specifically the Marc Anthony version.
In it, he says:
"La mañana entera sin que nadie pueda su carga comprar
Su carga comprar
Todo.
Todo está desierto, el pueblo está muerto de necesidad
De necesidad
Se oye este lamento por doquier
De mi desdichado Borinquen
Y triste.
El jibarito va pensando así, diciendo así, llorando así por el camino
Que será de Borinquen mi Dios querido?
Que será de mis hijos y de mi hogar?
Borinquen.
La tierra del Edén, la que al cantar el gran Gautier llamo la perla de los mares
Ahora que tu te mueres con tus pesares
Déjame que te cante yo también.
Borinquen, de mi amor..."
He represented everything in that song. Worried about his wife, his family, his home and his Puerto Rico. Whenever I play the song, I immediately begin to cry. However, the lack of the ringtone going off every week, is even more painful. Dad was and forever will be, my Jibarito. My desire to learn more about Puerto Rico, the culture, the people, my family and especially my ancestors is at its core, because of my dad and the fact that deep in his heart, that is who he was. Proud to be un Jibaro from Jayuya.
I pay more attention to the lyrics of those older songs to understand the meaning of them in relation to him.
His favorite time though, was Christmas when the aguinaldos and memories of the parrandas would come out in full force. We gave him one years ago and the look on his face when we showed up, how he sang and how happy he was, will be forever etched in our minds. I still listen to all of that music, especially when taking care of mom, every Saturday. I play it to help remind her, and of course myself, of our Jibarito.
Growing up I remember the Puerto Ricans from the town I grew up in, always using the phrase Jibaro in a demeaning way, implying a country person instead of someone "from the city". Which was supposedly better, according to them. As I got older though, I realized they were completely wrong because of my dad, the family back in Jayuya and what I came to really understand about what that really means.
From the website
El Boricua, "Jíbaro is a term used to refer to mountain people, who lived "in-land" in the heart of the island, and are the backbone of the Puerto Rican culture." To me, it is probably the best description of what dad represented. Honor, Honesty, Bravery, Tenacity, Hospitality, and as the website continues to describe, Self Sufficiency, Stubbornness and Mucho Orgullo!
The stubbornness especially came out when he was playing dominoes, which besides watching baseball on TV, was the only thing he ever really wanted to do. He was amazing at it too. Before the first hand had gone around, he had already figured out what everybody had and was trying to put us in a position where he would take advantage of that and get as many points as possible. It got so frustrating at times that it felt like entrapment.
It was also painful to listen to the "Rafy, why did you not go here when you had the chance...etc..." comments. I would piss me off to no end since I had no clue what the heck I did wrong or what play, 3-4 plays back he was referring to.
Looking back at those moments, I am not sure if he was trying to "teach" us how to play by pointing out what we did wrong, or just making sure we understood how much he knew. It was especially hard to tell when he would say that he won, when you consider that this is a partner based game.
What I would give to play another round, despite knowing that I was definitely going to get yelled at.
When it came to sports though, Baseball was it. Nothing else mattered and it was his pastime. A die hard Mets fan, dad would prefer to watch the Mets on TV than go to a local baseball game. We tried multiple times to get him to go to the Greenville Drive games, and while once in a blue moon he would go, most of the times he would just say no, that he was just going to stay home. We knew immediately that it was because the Mets were playing. It did not matter if they were in a complete losing streak or not and in last place. He was not a fair weather fan.
The only exception to that norm was when the Big or Senior League World Series tournament was underway and the Puerto Rican team was here.
The games are always the end of July or first week of August and it did not matter how hot it was going to be, Dad would show up about 30 minutes before the game started to get the best seat at the bleachers, with his cushioned seats and umbrella in tow.
I would always see him there with mom, and when mom became bedridden, the girls would make arrangements to stay with her so that dad could go to the games.
In 2018, when the tournament started again, just three months after dad's passing, during the entire first game while I was in the dugout where I usually am with the team, I could not stop crying almost the entire game because I was in my usual spot but he was not in his. I kept looking over to an empty bleacher while at the same time feeling like I had the worst sore throat I have ever had due to the gigantic lump in my throat. It was 3 months after my team's number one fan was gone, forever. It will never be the same.
He was so happy one year that Puerto Rico came and they were doing great, that he even made his famous rice for them.
Lastly, how we remember dad, was how much he adored his family, especially his grandchildren and great grandchildren, how much they adored him and miss him so much. From Adrian asking why Papa's heart was bad while taking out a plastic screwdriver and saying that he could fix it, to Brielle bringing flowers regularly to his gravesite, to Lexi holding on to one of the overly used plastic bowls that Papa used to send her food in, to Angela who feels honored to be living in Papa's house, to Joshua who wanted one thing only, the recliner he took his last breath in, to Dan who wanted his Jibaro Music, to Tony who broke the door down and had to call 911, to Michael who is constantly reminded about how he looks like you, to Mom who I am sure, deep in her heart knows that a piece is missing, to everyone of us who lost the patriarch of our family.
We have missed you everyone of these 365 days since you left us, but we will never forget you.
